


Endgame

by Belle_Evans



Category: Quantico (TV)
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Season/Series 02, Sex, Spoilers, Stream of Consciousness, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2018-12-02 02:05:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11499480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belle_Evans/pseuds/Belle_Evans
Summary: Harry could get himself out of this.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I watch Quantico for the pretty, because the plots are... I'm finishing Season 2 and Sebastian has just reappeared after being shot at the G20. 
> 
> No idea what happens after he and Harry re-encounter each other because this idea occurred, so here we are.

He could take the gun off Sebastian. It wouldn't be that hard, after all Harry was only pretending to be a CIA trainee. A fact everyone seems to forget, but a fact nevertheless that he has years worth of field operative experience over the other man. He is good under pressure, can compartmentalize, stay focused. Sebastian, on the other hand is a mess, not that Harry isn't a mess, but his mess is more tightly contained. Sebastian was always a mess in the field, in their room, everywhere distracted by his issues, his emotions and perceived jabs from Harry. Okay, the jabs were most often real, but the point is Sebastian isn't as good at not having his buttons pushed. And that was before he had to kill his wife, moments after discovering how thoroughly she'd played him. So yes, despite how steady the hand with the gun is, Harry could probably take his former colleague down with one well placed word, a caustic sentence.

 

_Sebastian how's the wife? Still dead mate?_

 

However, that would just snare him too. He's the reason, maybe not the sole one, but a primary one Sebastian is a widower. Sometimes, he has nightmares about that moment. Sebastian deliberately shoots him instead of the duplicitous wife. Of course, there is also the irony that Sebastian now has a gun on him. Or maybe not. It's not the first time the other man has threatened his life, but he had forgiven Sebastian that. The page has turned, but their song remains maddeningly the same.

So, Harry _doesn't_ have to say the words that Sebastian has given him for Alex. He could just take him down. He doesn't. Sebastian chose him at the G20, when it mattered. Clearly, he has gotten himself into some sort of nonsense. Harry will get him out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has an imperfect plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this posted before the holiday and definitely before the end of the year. It may get tweaked, but this is essentially it and the third part is in progress. I now just have to finish watching the season to see what actually happened with them and if the Part 3 I've started will work at all with it.

The cologne isn't familiar. In the time they roomed together, trained together he doesn't actually remember Sebastian wearing cologne. He wonders if it is deliberate to mask other external scents making it harder for Harry to use his senses to clock, or mark his surroundings. Only Sebastian had no way of knowing Harry would be part of the operation as he hadn't known until shortly before he stepped into the surveillance van. 

Additionally, there was no operational protocol that suggested as a good idea taking a material witness with you after assassinating someone. Eliminate, yes. Kidnap, no. The cologne is just a bad idea on pure principle. Simply because a witness doesn't see you, doesn't mean you leave anything behind for them to latch onto, to provide law enforcement even a sliver of a lead. Maybe the dead wife turned Sebastian onto it, but that would be reason _not_ to wear it. Harry's thoughts spiral. He should be counting the number of right and left turns, but so far there haven't really been any. The road beneath the tires feels straight, well-paved. The ex-operative should be tuning into what other sounds he can glean, whether they're on a farm road or interstate, but his senses instead, are full of the crisp, clean, fresh like the ocean smell of Sebastian. Like standing on the shore with the rush of the water in his ears and an eye on the infinite horizon. It permeates everything. 

 

A veer and a crunch of tires on gravel, the crackle of what sounds like twigs snapping and breaking before jolting to a stop. The driver's side door creaks open, then slams shut. The side panel door opens seconds after. The blindfold over Harry's eyes is secure enough to keep any source of light from penetrating, but he's retained enough of his operational senses to at least clock that they hadn't been on the road for more than an hour. Daylight should still be in play. It might be something he can work in his favor.

&&&&&

“SHITE,” the curse more muffled than intelligible around the gag. The grip on Harry's bicep tightens in response, jerks him forward as it has been for about a minute or so. Harry resists, forcefully, pulling his arm in the opposite direction. He's willing to be dragged through the woods, but not blindfolded if Sebastian's going to keep bumping him into trees. It's the only real fight he's put up since being abducted. The grip on Harry's bicep tightens. Before he can try to drag his hostage forward again, Harry shakes his head vigorously from side to side. “No,” low, yet forceful has the desired effect.

“WHAT,” hissing, Sebastian yanks the blindfold roughly away from his hostage's eyes. Harry blinks once, twice letting his vision adjust to the brightness. The day's gone partly cloudy, but the unexpected light is still enough to blind a little. Taking in as much of the densely wooded area as he can, as quickly as he can in case it's the last chance he gets, Harry dips his head in appreciation. Sebastian only glares at him before dragging Harry into step alongside. Harry tamps down on the amused smirk tugging at his mouth. 

It's not as though he volunteered for this impromptu abduction slash field trip. At least not overtly. He's still more than committed to finding the extent of Sebastian's entanglement in this mess. With the blindfold loose around his neck, it leaves him able to actually see both the forest and the trees. Dead pecans crush beneath his boots, but now better able to anticipate challenges of the terrain, the former MI-6 is able to keep himself being banged into tree trunks to a minimum as he stumbles beside his ex-teammate. Sebastian's pace quickens. The tightness that's been prevalent around his eyes and mouth since they encountered each other on the path eases slightly. He's evermore grateful to be blindfold free when the grade of the terrain begins to slant into a kind of valley. Apparently, it's their destination. 

As they reach the bottom of the grade leading to the valley floor, a cabin becomes visible. Positioned not to be immediately apparent, it doesn't truly come into plain view into they are only yards from it. As soon as it becomes visible, Sebastian lets go of Harry's arm, paces out a deliberate number of steps as he walks heel toe in a line perpendicular to what is presumably a safe house. Crouching, Sebastian taps a patch of grass. There is the faintest digital alarm before he taps out some sort of code into the ground. In front of them the cabin door snicks open. 

If there were any doubts about this being a safehouse, they are quickly dispelled. `Although it looks like dilapidated oak, the door Sebastian drags Harry through, is reinforced steel like a vault. Without ceremony, he's shoved down roughly into one of two square backed wooden chairs next to the live edge table dominating the main room. Despite the seal provided by the front door, the air quality in the room isn't stale, suggesting a self—contained ventilation system. It's an open plan with the room evenly divided between a living or workspace and the kitchen, dining area. As safehouses go it's one of the better appointed with quartz countertops and a stainless steel stove and fridge. The see through cupboards are well stocked with provisions. It reminds him that in his haste to mea culpa himself back into the mission, he'd missed tea. Stairs at the side of one set of cupboards lead to a loft or attic. It feels like they are alone. Harry plasters the most nonchalant smile that he can on his face as he removes the blindfold completely. 

The other man's answering glare is expected. As is the sudden rigid set of his shoulders. Sebastian's propped himself against the kitchen counter. His only concession to the indoors is to take off his watch cap. Surprisingly or not he also unholsters his weapon and places it on the counter. Harry smirks at him. They fall so easily back into their patterns. 

“Did it ever occur to you,” Harry's legs sprawl in blatant invitation, “I could be part of God's plan for you. That I'm not the snake in your garden?” 

Now that they've landed, Harry suspects there's a definite clock on whatever he's going to do. Either someone is coming, or this is Sebastian's last stop before he's in the wind. The other man has always watched Harry, right from the beginning at the Farm. What's missing now as Sebastian's glare travels avidly from Harry's face to the material stretched over his crotch is the abject shame. Maybe as sins go this one has been knocked down on the list by cold blooded murder. 

Even though his hands are still bound, there are no impediments to Harry gaining his feet. The space between the chair and the counter propping Sebastian up spans only a few feet, which Harry cuts quickly. Sebastian's fingers tighten on the either side of the counter, his glare remains fixed. The operative makes no move to stop his 'hostage'. When Harry is close enough for their boots to touch, he stops. Leaning only his head in just a fraction telegraphs his intention clearly enough for a blind man to see. A sort of wounded animal noise breaks from Sebastian as he tilts his head in answer to eliminate the fractional space. 

 

Of all the people to have this kind of history with, it makes no sense that it would be Sebastian, flits through Harry's mind as, for the fourth time, familiar dry lips meet and part beneath his. The familiar tongue paints the contours of his mouth the same way it had during the wedding assignment. The discovery is not in the taste or texture of the other man, since they have figuratively been here before. The sharpness of the desire is the discovery. Without the distraction or interference of the rest of the trainees, or the low grade hum of unsatisfied vengeance, always a part of his system at the Farm, or the the tangled nature of their assignments lies real desire to keep kissing Sebastian, to stay close to Sebastian, to take him apart, not simply for this present dilemma, but because underneath he simply wants Sebastian. 

There had been a little spark of want at first meet, then the zealotry reared its head. That should have killed all remnant, as the subsequent violence should have. There's very little sense to it.  
Or, maybe there is. Maybe this is something that Harry needs to face about himself. As much as he tries to be the hard man, the pragmatic man, maybe he's simply genetically unable to let people, certain men...closet cases, drown. Or, maybe there is something about the drowning. 

Connected only by lips, teeth and tongues they devour each other like starving men instead of men involved in some sort of twisted, impromptu spy v. spy. The wounded animal whimper breaks free from Sebastian, into the safehouse air again. Heaving like he's run a marathon, Sebastian tears away from the exploration of Harry's tonsils, and the counter before Harry's eyes have managed to flutter open. 

The heavy safehouse door rests slightly ajar. Through the space comes an unexpected, shout of frustration. Harry can't help a smile. The smell of the ocean hangs on him, in the air. He hesitates looking for something to cut the zipties, waiting to see if Sebastian comes back inside. Sebastian's unholstered gun still on the counter signals his former colleague will most likely be back. Like the scowling, the glaring this is just another part of their dynamic. It's not the first time Sebastian has gone stomping off after they've gone off script. Desire thrums through Harry's body, with bound hands, he adjusts the proof of it. A few moments more with no additional shouting at the sky, and no Sebastian back inside the cabin, Harry turns his attention to freeing his hands. He frees himself with a steak knife. On previous assignments, Harry has found himself at safehouses with essentially bread, water and MREs laid in for operatives. The fully stocked kitchen comes with a comparatively staggering assortment of food, representative of every region of the world. He sets about putting together tea while he waits and thinks.

&&&&&

The touch just on the outside of his naked hip brings Harry out of the light doze he's effected. There's a deliberateness to his nakedness. A calculated risk, but the gun Sebastian left behind, brought up from the kitchen is in easy reach.

The skylight above the bed Harry discovered in the loft above the kitchen provides enough natural light for him to see Sebastian's face, his eyes fixed on Harry dark and wanting. The moment hangs between them. The curl of desire Harry felt in the kitchen returns, forcefully. Lifting a hand, he strokes his fingers across the other man's cheek. 

“It occurs to me that perhaps, a tiny bit, I've been like everyone else telling you who you are. Clearly, obviously, Carly was **not** the woman for you, but maybe it doesn't have to be one or the other does it. Maybe for you it is _both_.”

The smile that crosses Sebastian's face looks odd. It takes a moment for Harry to realize the reason is its rarity. His fingers rest light against Sebastian's cheek.  
“No. It's you. You **are** the snake in the garden.” 

Sebastian's hand slides across Harry's bare hip beneath the light sheet to cup his sex. The first touch to his cock by any man in the last several years not either a sex worker or an assignment, is a firm, sure stroke. Definitely _not_ inexperienced. Before he can open his mouth to make that observation out loud, Sebastian leans forward to bite at his bottom lip, a definitive picking up where they'd left it in the kitchen. 

Allowing himself to be this vulnerable, to put whatever remains of his real self on the line, Harry has no fallback other than the belief his former colleague wants this, needs this as much as he apparently does. Whatever it was Sebastian came to while he was gone, he's come back to consume Harry. The plan such as it is, is to give Sebastian what he wants. 

There's a thread in Harry that would give himself up fully to the sensually rough rub of Sebastian's jeans against the skin of his naked thighs, that would arch more into the uncomfortable press of the big buttons of the other man's jacket as they press into Harry's bare chest. The fainter smell of water on his skin. Nakedness has never been an issue for him. It turns him on to be with others who are a little more uptight in that area. If this were just about sex he would arch and writhe and freely come all over Sebastian as is, but he would do well not to forget the other pressing things at play. 

Snaking a leg around Sebastian's, he rolls the man so smoothly onto his back it would make the most Ryan of them proud. Sebastian moans low in his throat, but doesn't stop his quest to climb inside Harry by mouth, to make him come with the deft workings of his hand. 

The safehouse had obviously been stocked by operatives with enough field experience to understand what time could be like when you had to go to ground, especially alone. In the drawer of the hand-carved nightstand by the bed, he'd found a small treasure trove of distractions. The weight of Sebastian's undeterred tongue in his mouth, the continued, surprisingly effective confidence of the stroke threatens to derail Harry. Even in this position, how easy it would be to just let go. Just enjoy the grind and the friction until he spills all over Sebastian's nice clean jeans. 

At this rate there is no doubt in Harry's mind he would be first to let go. He imagines Sebastian's stubbornness and singleness of mind extends even to this, as clearly he'd come to some sort of conclusion how to handle Harry during his couple of hours on walk-about. No doubt determined to gain the upperhand after realizing the mistake of not simply disposing of Harry on sight. 

They are both on mission. Working the hand not clutched in Sebastian's hair, between their bodies, Harry undoes the coat's buttons, slides his hand beneath the heavy sweater to touch the warm skin of his belly. Sebastian drags his mouth away to gulp in some air. Slightly unfocused eyes blink surprise at Harry like he's just realized they've changed positions. 

“You're wearing too many clothes mate,” Harry purrs. Kneeling up, he shoves the jacket off Sebastian's shoulders before there can be any objections. Getting no immediate resistance against that move, he uses both hands to lift the sweater over Sebastian's head. In answer, Sebastian scrambles up to as much of a sitting position as he can with Harry in his lap, raising his arms above his head.

And there he is at last, up close and personal. It's not the first time Harry's seen the other man without his shirt. There were opportunities at the Farm, in their shared quarters, in the showers after combat training. This is the first time with Sebastian that he doesn't fear reprisal. His eyes can't help focusing on the raised skin where the demon wife shot him. Trembling fingers can't help, but reach out to trace the edges. 

There's a sudden rush of white noise in Harry's ears. He's falling, spiraling down into the blood. Blood everywhere as Elliot bleeds out onto the kitchen floor. Then Sebastian's inexplicably beside Elliot, also bleeding out. Harry's hands scrabble over both of them trying to apply pressure, trying to stop the flow, but it's not enough. He isn't enough. It coats his hands, his arms, the floor. They're all going to drown in it.

“Harry, Harry, _Harry_. Sebastian's voice seeps through the chaos. _Harry_. The white noise recedes, a bit. A slight, repetitive pressure behind his left ear, a circular movement, Elliot does that when Harry has trouble sleeping, but Elliot is dead. Drowned in blood. 

“Harry, look at me. Harry.”

Harry blinks and blinks, struggling to come up, come back. His vision clears enough to take in his hands pressing against Sebastian's scar. Applying pressure to long, at least on the surface, closed wounds.

“Too much blood,” he hears himself saying. “There's so much blood.” The finger keeps rubbing a gentle, soothing circle behind his ear as a strong hand clutches at his wrists. “There isn't any blood Harry. I'm not bleeding. I'm not him.” 

As Harry's voice fades from his own hearing, he blinks once more focusing on Sebastian's earnest face in the here and now. Not Elliot.

“I'm gonna come inside you.” 

Sebastian's forehead crinkles at the second abrupt shift in Harry's mood, but he doesn't buck Harry off when he goes to work on the top button of Sebastian's jeans. He doesn't flinch when Harry yanks his jeans and the boxer briefs his wife gave him down to bind at his calves in one rough, decisive motion.

“So pretty mate,” Harry murmurs. He only moans acquiescence when Harry scrabbles for a tube on the nightstand. 

“Spent your mourning period experimenting did you?” 

“What?” 

Harry smooths his fingers over the deepening furrows in Sebastian's forehead, as he unscrews the cap with his teeth. Manipulating the tube one-handed, he squirts it where Sebastian's hand had been on him shortly before. Dark eyes never leave his. 

“You want me to believe,” he bends to purr low in Sebastian's ear, “that you haven't done this before. That I'm your first boy. The way you touched me, not the first time you've had someone elses cock in your hand is it?”

 

His hand moves deftly from his own cock to Sebastian's, his balls and the ring behind, slicking generously. As his fingers work inside, Sebastian arches into the touch with a low keening. 

“Knuckle deep now, is there anything you want to tell me Sebastian?” 

In answer, legs, still tangled in his jeans, Sebastian arches and spreads as wide for Harry as that binding allows Harry deliberately rubs a streak of pre-cum on the fabric. A blush flames Sebastian's cheeks, spreading like wildfire down his body. Harry can't help but chase it with his tongue, skirting the G20 scar as he does.

“Tell me,” he cajoles when his meets Sebastian's hot gaze again. The blush of his cheeks darkens, but his gaze doesn't waver from Harry's. 

“Sometimes Carly would...”

Sebastian breaks the eye contact to drop his focus to their nearly touching groins. 

“Would what mate, tell me.”

“Sometimes she put on a -,” Sebastian strokes himself, simultaneously nudging Harry's hardness, effectively explaining, and cutting off the next words out of Henry's mouth as his fingers slip free. The former MI-6 takes a fraction of a moment to mentally salute the dead operative's dedication to her objective. On the wrong side, but down for her cause, truly.

Concentrating on the motion of Sebastian's hand, he'd expected to spend his day groveling to the president's son. Assassination aside, this self-assigned mission is a much better application of his time than he could have imagined. The end of a conversation he and Sebastian have been having since they met. He was already nearly gone. A hard and fully willing Sebastian isn't going to help him hold it together for much longer. 

“What she did, it's nothing compared to a real live boy. Let me.” Sebastian does. Harry presses into the other man's body, the way he wouldn't let himself really think about when he was flirting and trying to get under Sebastian's skin at the Farm. Scrabbling hands map Harry's taut nipples, the dip of his waist and pelvic crease before settling for a firm grip on his ass. Sebastian's back bows with each thrust.

Their mouths come together like they had moments before, the fucking of their tongues now in concert with their bodies.

&&&&&

`

The smell of frying pork brings Harry out of a surprisingly sound sleep. His internal clocks are skewed since he returned to the states. He shoves down the sheet covering his sated body. There was more light through the loft's skylight when he came inside Sebastian just as he declared he would. The way the other man begged him to when he was on the edge. He can still feel Sebastian's iron grip pulling, holding. 

The smell of bacon...he's alone in bed, but not the safehouse. Listening for a moment, he can only pick up the frying pan sizzle. No conversation or unrecognizable voices. Just beneath the bacon, the pungent smell of the two of them on the sheets hit his senses. For moment, he considers wallowing in it, but there is the mission still. 

His clothes are just where he left them so he dresses quickly, quietly. 

At the top of the stairs, he waits another moment to see what else he can detect. Sebastian's gun is no longer where he'd left it on the nightstand. Not much of a surprise, but certainly the loss of an advantage. His ex-colleague fails at compartmentalizing which still leaves Harry something to work in his favor. He trusts the time spent showing Sebastian the superiority of a real boy will give him enough leverage for whatever is coming next. 

With his eagerness between the sheets, Harry doubts he'll find a new litany of gay panic vitriol waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, but his former colleague is, in addition to being mercurial, also now a killer. When he's far enough down the stairs to take in the safehouse's main room, what greets him is as benign as it is discordant. 

His back to Harry, seemingly unaware that Harry has come down from the loft, Sebastian's just a man in his boxer briefs breaking eggs into a bowl. The gun's not readily apparent, but there isn't room for it to fit unnoticed in Sebastian's underwear. Harry's fingers tingle to slide up into the nape of Sebastian's neck, to press his head forward, to kiss the spot where, on other occasions he'd slipped a needle or plunged a blade. He must make a noise of some kind because Sebastian turns around and smiles at him. No scowl, no frown. A genuine, open smile.

“I, uh...” Harry stutters then _he_ is on the other side of the safehouse door. Outside. Even if Sebastian comes after him, it will take him a couple of minutes to get his full kit on. Minutes equals distance, Harry breaks into a run. It's difficult in the dark, dodging trees and low branches, but his training takes over. Sebastian hadn't made any attempt to cover wherever he went earlier so it gives Harry a bit of a trail to follow. It cuts the advantage of a jump start. Harry doesn't care. 

Sebastian's open, anticipating smile hit him in a way he hadn't expected. There had been the sex, but there had also been that moment before. There had been so much blood. The echo of it in his mind's eye. It's not the first time a remnant of that last night with Elliot has overcome him. His PTSS remains untreated, because for the most part, he'd put it in a box to effect his revenge. There had been nights right after when he couldn't get off the floor because of flashbacks. No one knows, not even Philip. 

Until a few hours ago he'd managed, successfully, to keep them locked down during mission critical times. There hadn't been one incident at the Farm. After Carly shot Sebastian and the hostages were released, things had moved quickly. Sebastian had been taken away by ambulance, and for a long time Harry hadn't known his prognosis. The part of him that would ever be in his kitchen that night assumed Sebastian to be DOA at hospital. He'd been ordered home almost immediately by MI-6 for a debrief, and by the time he'd been able to surface and find out from Alex that Sebastian was alive, the idea of Sebastian dead had firmly taken hold. The inability to contact Sebastian or gain any credible intel about his whereabouts only exacerbated the idea of Sebastian dead. 

He's taken a step he hadn't sufficiently protected against. A step away from Elliot. A real one. The earlier challenge turns on him. He hadn't given much thought to any other goal or life than one that involved vengeance for Elliot. It was all he could see. Without it he'd been at loose ends. Sebastian isn't the only one that needs to be gotten out. What if he _is_ part of God's plan for Sebastian or the converse Sebastian part of the plan for him. He could have sounded the alarm as soon as he saw the other man in the park. He hadn't. Yes, it was his intention to extricate Sebastian from this mess, but he could have done that _with_ Alex's help. She would have kept their confidence. 

His own ignored, untreated instability the wildcard and his raw want disguised as assistance have brought him to this. He's a skilled agent with more training than any at the Farm except maybe Lydia. He could have done it without either of them removing a stitch of clothing. Or touching the other. Certainly sex served an expediency, but he _knows_ Sebastian. It could have gone badly the other way. 

He pulls up short. The terrain has ended. The Chesapeake Bay stretches in front of him. He hadn't considered the possibility of extraction by water. Perhaps that's what he'd smelled on Sebastian, the infiltration. With nowhere else to run but back, he flops down on a large piece of felled tree.

&&&&&

A twig snaps close to his position. It's not the first one.

There are fall leaves in Sebastian's hair. He's also completely suited up for work, his weapon re-holstered. There's too much space between for either of them to touch the other easily, more than enough for Sebastian to get off a decent shot. Harry reads that purpose, tamps down on the surge to pull the leaves from Sebastian's hair. He holds position on the remains of the tree as he's done for the last hour or so. Sebastian hadn't come immediately as he thought he would. Perhaps extending the same space and trust Harry had earlier.

A more than familiar scowl graces his features. Harry's fault. Sebastian woke up and made breakfast in his knickers. Harry woke up and ran, a profound failure to capitalize on the groundwork he'd lay.

“I need to tell you the truth.”

“What a new and novel concept between spies.” Grinning, Harry turns all his attention on Sebastian.

“What happened with Carly was a sacrifice for the objective.” 

“Come again mate.”

“With everything closing in we weren't all going to make it out. Not in an operational way. She sacrificed to make sure at least one of us got out with our cover intact. So that one of us could still move freely in the world.”

Harry absorbs that. 

“So it's you then, the one that got out? That's the truth you're telling me?”

Harry stands and takes a step toward Sebastian, cutting off his ability to pull his weapon before Harry can make a move. Sebastian makes no attempt to adjust his position to improve his chances of shooting Harry. 

“They made us do terrible things at the Farm. The training, that _wedding_. Interfering in, ruining the lives of people who had done nothing wrong. Using the innocents as pawns. People we're supposed to protect. I would think you'd understand the evil in that. Abuse of power. You do understand. Taking advantage of the weak. Your whole MI-6 career happened because you were trying to avenge an evil. Right? 

The anguish there pierces. 

“But you let the AIC - “

“CIA, the real CIA.” 

It's odd to hear some of Carly's last words coming out of Sebastian's mouth. It cements the reality of what he's saying. Carly had whipped up a potent kool-aid. 

“And I found out the evil I was fixated on for so many years wasn't what I'd imagined or assumed. So I'll tell you a truth Sebastian. Now, I'm un-tethered. Maybe a little lost. I grant you that, but bollocks them all. Come with me right _now_. Our combined skill-set, we make our own marching orders. Do what we want, when we want. The way we want. Or do nothing. We don't have to harm anyone. We don't _have_ to kill anyone, sacrifice anyone or hurt anyone unless we've personally vetted them. Let's just go. Right now. The real CIA isn't any different. They can't help themselves, their corruption. Get lost with me.”

“My family -”

“Will never let you be who you are. Thou shalt not kill Sebastian. How many have there been since the G20, since you've been moving 'freely'? It was a boyhood dream to be a hitman was it? To deprive a child of her mother.”

Those words penetrate. There's a break in the scowl, a flicker. Harry sees the boy in Sebastian, before he found out he had a shadow self those around him would only ever want to stuff down. A liquid brown defiant stare drops to the broken twigs beneath his feet.

“Rugby.”

“Mmm, those rugby players _do_ have life changing thighs.” A familiar blush flames Sebastian's cheeks. The phantom heat of it sparks an answering warmth in Harry's chest. It's scary to want in this way, but he can't deny that he does. Closing the remaining gap, he brings himself toe to toe once more simultaneously sliding his hand over the holster. The interference of reflexive, muscle training is the last thing they need right now. Sebastian's hand tightens over his, but makes no effort to either dislodge Harry's hand or pull his weapon. 

“You know I could have kicked your arse back at the plaza. Gun or not. Disappear with me. Let's be done with all of this.”

Sebastian makes a motion as if to dislodge Harry's hand from the weapon, but the grip remains unyielding.

“You're always so arrogant.”

“It's not what you were saying a few hours ago.”

The blush deepens. Pressing the moment, his thigh slides between Sebastian's legs, brushing it against an answering twitch. “Come _with me_. I look _really_ good in rugby shorts. I can be both, the snake and the plan. As you are.” 

“They're twenty minutes out,” Sebastian whispers before he brushes his thumb against **that** spot behind Harry's ear. He presses his forehead against Sebastian's, “So we have fifteen, yeah?”

The open, anticipating smile brightens up the night, “Yeah.”

 

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> Still working on the next part I was kind of waiting to see if there was anything useful in the last season canon, but will probably going ahead and finish this before watching those last eps.


End file.
